"windstorms" poems
Towering over the moon glazed groves,
Soaring phoenix of night-
What are the storms of your mind?
To what measure do your cloud wings extend?
From shores of salt and shells,
To the high rise of the wise old mountains,
But where therein is your essence hidden?
Flaming jewels for eyes,
That vapor of solitude,
Treading the night skies.
Lined by lightning feathers
And bold with thunderous clap,
Created are whole windstorms at a single wing's flap!
Great and noble, we know this bird.
As loud as the storms at bay;
But they say he is made in silence,
Speaking through things unheard
And words we cannot say..
So sailed across the star candled oceans~
Did the age-old secret scroll,
Stories of the Night Phoenix, adventures of never-told!
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
If you want flowery poetry
Hit pause, backspace delete.
I write on a lot of subjects;
Only a few could be called sweet.
I’m not into swirling windstorms
Or describing billowy clouds.
Not into extolling autumn leaves
Or conifers standing proud.
I try to select the human things
Whether good or even bad.
Sometimes I wrestle with
Life twists that make us sad.
I try to speak for everyman
And that includes the women.
I try to reflect life circumstances
And the results the travel with them.
So, crooning polysyllabically
Is seldom my favorite tune,
Nor is waxing limerickally
About June, and spoon and moon.
Instead I’ll probably take to task
Those who live in sappy hope
A prince shows up in their life
A proper romantic dope.
I write the rhymes about crooks
That steal from your children
And the supposed leaders
That ****** and abuse women.
I write about parents who
Ignore what their children need
And instead find their joy
On selfishness and greed.
After so many millennia
We really need to stop
Waiting for someone else to come
And be the moral traffic cop.
It is us who need to change
And teach our children accordingly
Because the way we are fixing things
Humanity is progressing dismally.
So keep your butterfly couplets
And views of rain on hedges.
We are falling apart as humans
And it’s visible on the edges.
It will only take a few crazies
With power enough to wield
And this planet, and us of course,
Will no longer have a shield.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
I wanted to model my life after a rainstorm:
To embody the excitement and freshness and screaming vitality
of a torrential rain on a hot summer day
To show off my clouds and shout out with thunder
My worries and sorrows, my failures and fears.
To laugh and cry and run and shriek
With windstorms and hailstorms and post-summer sleet.
But most of all,
I wanted to flash through people's lives like lightning
So, so bright and unexpected and beautiful and alive
That they held their breath and scanned the skies
For just one more crackle of energy and excitement
That makes them question their accepted lives.
If nothing else, I'll be petrichor
The soft, sweet reminder of new life to come.
That puts a smile on people's faces
As they, for once, stop, and breathe,
And remember that
They, too,
Are
Alive.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:56 AM UTC
For God so loved the World…
Why? How? Does He see the same World that we live in everyday? Do His eyes see the same people? I cannot believe that they do…
We are everything that He is not, complete opposites in every way.
We are ignorant and arrogant. We see something beautiful and immediately cut it to pieces to find out what makes it so radiant. We are hateful and self-centered, thinking only of ourselves even alongside the deathbeds of others. We are destructive and self-absorbed. We only help the needy for a tax credit and a clear conscience.
We curse and condemn and never give our actions a second thought. We tear each other down to build ourselves up.
We lie and we cheat and we steal and we **** We torture and torment in the name of boredom. We rob and we pillage and we **** and we raze, leveling the achievements of our own for the temples of posterity.
We live in a world where dog eats dog and beasts eat God, and He goes on, loving us just the same. How? How can anyone love something that is so perverse; so malignant? We burn what we do not understand to ash instead of observing and wonder why our neighbors stockpile gasoline and flame retardant clothing…
Love thy neighbor as thyself and hate each other, it’s alright, as long as you hate yourself for being like your neighbor and hate your neighbors for being like you.
We are the worst that the universe has to offer, yet the creator of all has still decided to bestow his love upon us? Why? How must His eyes see our wicked race to continue to feel that way? We are nothing more that wicked mud, and deserving of nothing more than a harsh drought followed by unending windstorms.
Bring on the sun and the winds. Wipe this plague from the face of the Earth. She will not miss us, just as your neighbors will not miss you.
But please, dear God, do not stop loving us, for we are merely children with money, nuclear toys and a strong dependency on anti-depressants, and we know not what we do.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
What do birds see?
perhaps more than we can know
and what of their dreams?
are they full of worms
and juicy slugs?
are there also nightmares
of predators and windstorms
destroying all they've built?
given a choice
I'd probably be a robin
waking in that well built nest
shared with eggshell blue
waiting for the warmth
the return
of the reddish feathered breast
or perhaps a catbird
is closer to my truth
a wordy bird
behind the black bead of an eye
taking it all in
confident
Arizona will be there
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
by my window, a fir tree didn't know that
we cut off a branch. the gleeful hum of
a chainsaw in a cherry picker droned
with the rhythm of an obnoxious dirge.
the branch popped off like a lego cowboy's
arm and hit the ground with a thud, like a sack
of potatoes or a coconut. the fir tree didn't
feel as sweet honey poured like blood
from its armpit. the only first aid was the heat
from the spinning blade that cauterized the wound
and sticky sap, a bandaid of resin. the pine cones
didn't know that their brothers and sisters fell with the branch.
a fir tree by my window still tries to scratch at the pane
during windstorms. but this device of Edgar Allen's
got chopped off. if this fir tree stays drunk on its
honeyed blood, it won't notice that it has lost an arm and it
will stay strong and merry, so that we can
chop it down and dress it up for christmas.
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC
~~~a repost~~~
(For Cheryl Love)
I am on this part of the world
while you are there on the other side
an enormous sea stands between us.
We are both just tiny specks from where we stand
it is not a high wall that separates us-
but giant waves and scary
windstorms,
an ocean of strong currents existing.
And yet, we speak, we think, like
we are just a few minutes drive away
it's like you're just next door
a matter of three knocks away
we chat and we laugh cheerfully
like the day would never end
like the sun would never set.
These physical barriers that separate us
couldn't hinder us from smiling
Only a few words spoken
would send us laughing
we see ourselves on skype
the gleeful sound of our giggles
is unstoppable and contagious
for we giggle just about anything
Our mouths never close,
there is always something to discuss
something to laugh about
like the day would never end
like the sun would never set.
We radiate positive energy
we vibrate with pleasant thoughts
dwelling on hopes that
one day we would meet in person.
We shall have long talks
we shall have long walks
we shall cook
we shall make beads
everything...we shall do together
we won't run out of things to do together,
like the day would never end,
like the sun would never set...
Though far apart,
the music of our giggles
shall play on and on
in our hearts
in our minds
in our ears.
There is no doubt,
our friendship, our music would live on
like the day would never end
like the sun would never set.
Sally
Copyright August 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
Her eyes are dying embers...
Her skin's cracked porcelain...
Her soul's a spring; she's coiled tight...
Oh! Where do I begin?
She's dying from the surface-in,
But there's a danger lurking there--
Betwixt the hunks of rotting meat;
Beneath the mounds of matted hair.
Her hands are crooked razors...
Her ******* are melted wax...
Her womb will bear only darkness now...
But her heart holds out for more attacks.
Her spine's a fuse in dynamite...
Her bones are all but dust...
But there's still malice in her mind;
A mind that's caked in rust...
She's decaying from the outside-in,
But there's a monster 'neath the husk.
A being built of horrid things;
Of claw and hoof and tusk.
Her voice is winter windstorms...
She draws in her toxic breath...
Her muscles crack like autumn leaves...
She is a sight of withered death.
She'll score your flesh with talons...
She'll strip you of your flesh...
She'll bottle up your insides,
In an attempt to keep them fresh.
She's a curse that comes from inside-out,
A plague that yearns to maim.
A rage that yields to only one,
But no one knows their name...
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
I didn't know that a man
could hold me with arms
so strong-
But kiss me with lips
so soft-
I have felt butterflies make
windstorms of my insides before-
But I never felt their wings halt-
Hushed, still and quiet-
Have they flown away?
Or have you lulled them
into a false state of grace?
I could exist in your embrace,
in the calm after the storm,
my heart flat-lined and wind
knocked out of my chest,
for however long you let me.
I whisper into your sandpaper cheek
I should go-
You whisper back
Okay-
But I sit for a few more moments,
your arms wrapped around me,
reluctant to move, because when I do
I can no longer pretend you're mine.
This is only a stolen moment in time.
You unfold yourself from me
and it's already begun-
The moment passes
and soon enough this feeling
too will be undone.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
With windstorms littered with snow
Failing visions know not where to go
While the inches accumulate and grow
Man’s spirits follow the temperatures so low
However one flower lingers on
With pristine petals that were never torn
Swaying in bliss, so out of season
Defying logic, repelling reason
Inciting all who see to the hall of mystery
These pupils receiving lectures on life’s inconsistency
But the wise walk out of class, truly see
Sometimes it’s best to let things be
To greet such sights with eyes in awe
And a wordless mouth that’s left ajar
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
There are still days when I think of you.
When the air smells like afternoon walks,
and the blue sky looks over me with kindness.
When the wind wraps an arm around my shoulder and walks me to class.
There are still times that I see you,
wearing your heart on your sleeve, and concern in your eyes because love is just your style.
When you open your chest but close your eyes, to hide the vulnerability in your tenderness.
And you laugh the loudest just to catch my eye.
And there are nights when I no longer hear you
howling to the waning moon,
because you’re scared that she’s leaving too.
And because you were never a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
just a pup who’s bark should have been worse than his bite.
Nights when you hide in the caves that I dug for you in the sides of mountains when they refused to move.
And there are still days when I think of you.
And I think of how you built me castles out of sand.
How my tears brought down walls like the ocean around me and exposed me to a cold I never knew.
And how you were gone, a bandit in the night, with the broken pieces of my trust.
These are the days that I wish I could sleep through,
but I can’t sleep forever.
Some nights, I can’t sleep at all.
So those nights I wish, in the biting cold, on the stars that shine over my fallen castle.
And I howl at the moon and I hug the breeze and I hope you ******* feel it.
I hope there are days you want to call me.
Like the night she finally kisses you hello,
so you can tell me how she fills your days with laughter and your nights with warmth,
Or the morning you wake up and finally find the courage to tell the world your truth.
And when you do, I hope you realize how long its been since you had my number.
I hope you can’t remember what my voice sounds like, howling to the moon together until the sun chased us down.
I hope that it hurts a little
when you taste the venom on your tongue.
I hope you wish you’d swallowed it,
because I can’t bare sting.
And because I’d like to think you think of me some days,
when the wind is at your back and by your side
keeping you company on your walk home.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
It's empty now,
big dark empty spaces,
except for where the light
comes through in shafts
between the splintered
wood and cracks
and holes we made
on hot summer days
punching through our
youthful exuberance
and wide-eyed innocence
laughing like screech owls
falling from the sky after
a night of too much shine
And it lingers,
the smell of purest sweat
from pores of exploration
singing out to cries of
wild abandonment
in the breeze that flutters
paisley and polka dots
with plaid and denim
patched in the worn
out spots
And it's there,
still after rainstorms
and duststorms and
windstorms and
the constant tug of war
between the scorching sun
and the balmy moon
The paint we brushed
on barely dry wood, with
old bristles bunched in
clumsy handles, wielded
by fresh beginnings
Weathered, seasoned,
chipped, peeling,
ingrained and
hanging on
Still there
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
What worse concession is there, than to smile at our daydreams?
If my prayers are a betrayal, who's the traitor, who's betrayed?
If it's just a flight of fancy, please don't leave me to my daydreams.
If I lose the mind I valued, will I wish my soul had stayed?
In the grand scheme, on the grand stage, in a world where I'm forgotten,
My convictions are of value, my delusions, maybe not.
Is it culture, God, or people that can't stand to be forgotten?
I don't want to be remembered for sweet dreams I soon forgot.
We're alone, at last, forever, is there meaning in the windstorms?
Are my questions well constructed, and what's more, should they be posed?
And I'll never find find the answer if I gaze into the windstorms.
Let books be put away for now, and open forums, closed.
Leave my questions to the gales and my delusions to the churches.
There's no place here for my lies, not those I hear or those I tell.
If I'm kneeling in infernos, pull me burning, from the churches.
Let me build until I blister. Wind and rain, or man and hell.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
For Cheryl Love
I am on this part of the world
while you are there on the other side
an enormous sea stands between us.
We are both just tiny specks from where we stand...
It is not a high wall that separates us---
but giant waves and scary windstorms,
an ocean of strong currents existing...
And yet, we speak, we think, like
we are just a few minutes drive away...
I feel you're just next door
a matter of three knocks away...
we chat and we laugh cheerfully,
like the day would never end
like the sun would never set...
These physical barriers that separate us
couldn't hinder us from smiling...
Only a few words spoken
would send us laughing...
We see ourselves on skype,
the gleeful sound of our giggles
is unstoppable and contagious,
for we giggle just about anything...
Our mouths never close,
there is always something to discuss,
something to laugh about...
like the day would never end,
like the sun would never set...
We radiate positive energy,
we vibrate with pleasant thoughts,
dwelling on hopes that
one day we would meet in person...
We shall have long talks,
we shall have long walks,
we shall cook,
we shall make beads,
everything, we shall do together,
we won't run out of things to do together,
like the day would never end,
like the sun would never set...
Though far apart,
the music of our giggles
shall play on and on,
in our hearts,
in our minds,
in our ears....
There is no doubt,
our friendship, our music would live on,
like the day would never end,
like the sun would never set...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
Umpteen Gods control me
and Zillion brethren alike
born of scads of clans we are mutts
Howling at a moon yowling back
guttural vibration echoing, veering a tempo
towards a tempest tempting temptation itself
These windstorms hailing on a juncture
that infinity will not allow to stop
boggle me into complete
Unrestingly humble obedience
Until I’m not
and a Zillion others follow in suit
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
what
make
our
wings flutter
through
the
silver blue sky
up
through
the
clouds
against
the
windstorms
so high
when
we believe
the
things
we
see with our eyes
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
I long for the smell of a breeze
In the mornings,
And to breathe in the misty air,
Fresh and heavy with the sweet
Fragrance.
When dawn grows weary
And gives way to
Lazy summer afternoons
Spent in the gentle sunlight,
I sink my bare toes deep into
The warm, damp earth
And pray to become a tree:
Strong, tall, unbending even
In the most wild windstorms.
I stretch my roots to the ground
As to never forget where I come from.
I reach my eager fingers to the sky
As to always remember my plans.
Plans for a future of blissful sleep
And an eternity of drinking in the
Sun's rays as if they were
Rich, golden honey,
All condensed into a single moment.
My life, after all these years,
Has now truly begun,
And I have no other intention than to
Spend my days basking in the
Generously light of merely existing.
This is a marvelous day,
And so shall it be for the
Remainder of my days.
The possibilities are truly boundless,
For I have forsaken my hindrances
And endured my heart's winter
Only to see Spring flourish and
Pave the pathway for
Summer in all her glorious majesty
And fruitful splendor.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
It sits alone now
Derelect, long neglected
Empty except the transient shelter
Provided to fox and deer
And swallows cliff and barn
The roof collapsed, the shingles succumbed
To a thousand windstorms
The south side sinking
Drowning in the earth
Yet from it's bones you can see
How it would have appeared
Had a century not unfolded
Timber walls hewn by hand
Corners locked and dovetailed
The craftsman's pride disguised now
Behind the ravages of time
Reflect upon the family
Those pioneers so strong of heart
Who built and grew and loved
And carved a life beyond existence
What hardships felt and conquered
What anguish never overcome
Can we imagine now
From our comfortable perspective
The priorities within that fold
Of time and circumstance?
rc
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 8:15 PM UTC
TRAPDOORS IN OUR LIFE
Casually as we stroll to find a new view on that knoll, if the vision is blocked we won't see all the potholes
Was it truly the intention to reach a holy grail, is not achieving it a sign we may be frail
Many steps to take through overgrown fields with hidden paths,is about finding stepping stone not the pitfalls
Fun and frolic necessary parts of the play,often casually we develop habits covering our minds like a black veil
Freedom was much easier without the knowledge of blind spots, how the breezes easily turn into windstorms
How often have we overcome what could have been a block but when simply taken in stride we prevail
Peering out over perpetual pastures with unknown ditches and glitches ,beauty or beast to greet us as we crisscross
Unheard disclaimers were given for protection brushed aside nothing to break our stride blind to being frail
Once again to face a day never considering a loss, just a need to play,often staying in motion comes with a higher cost
Knowledge of others ahead keeps us from our bed,playing on our own path to find new pleasure,unknown fears would make us stale
Will we take lessons from past discretion's or become feeble as we fall
remain strong because this life testing can only be lived not taught. R.C.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 7:12 AM UTC
Smooth it out, smooth it out
Let me take ya on a deep route,
Universal tour, I deserve an encore,
Keen sight on the lazy,
They tried to play me, got more acts than the Wayans babies,
No if ands or maybe, styles similiar to
Nas Doom and JayZ,
Wait it's too many artist, to name regardless,
Protect my cartilage,
From the clips that discharge, yo I used to wanna live really large,
At the top of the mountain, laying with multiples chicks at the fountain,
Of youth I only focus on truth,
Bumped out fantasy, now I see life
For what it really means,
Just spilling the beans, family of the celestial beings,
Star child, lost in the wild, as reality kicks
Me like Guile,
Flash back of the days of way back, we used to have each other's back,
Now everybody on the verge of a
Sneak attack
Dance to the tunes of j dilla,
Beat goons,
Cycles like a tycoon, and youll be consume by the lyrical monsoon,
Transform like directional windstorms, I come
Calm but bring much harm,
Too those who try to bring harm,
Told y'all once more,
I stick with the ******** watch for the apple bottoms,
It'll leave ya eyes sore, and before ya know you'll in debt from the ceiling,
To the floor either or,
I still love the cuties, doing they duties, but luxurious looks don't move me,
Only chicks with a mind,
Can move me,
Babygirl believe me, like I believe in you, only
The real can relate to the view,
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 2:12 PM UTC
Wakeful zero, peerless March,
longbow that bears the seasons’ arch,
when mist and windstorms pelt the blank slates
of cold-stupored trees.
Do I wake up yet? Dare I to unfreeze?
they ponder, short of language,
brains abuzz in taproots, dormant xylem
filling phylum with a flash
of namefulness past gray despair—
who grows? What draws them there,
gathered before they sprouted
in the epoch mire of waste that feeds them,
nurture dense distraction from
the trod-upon.
Stay put! They rest
a lot upon your back,
from holding nests to lightning’s crack—
yet time forgets you.
Hashtagged, color-marked you’re not,
a name once only March forgot
now baffles subjects of
a sheltered, sweaty throne.
Good thing you hold your own
whate’er they call you.
Naming stirs
you from the sleep you keep,
six thousand nicknames ere
you rest again. And man,
forget you as he may, looks to
your silent cue to stay, or migrate to
some panicked place you never knew.
What came before was rough—
you’ll grow through people, too.
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
you won't find me sitting and watching the stars
i am up here
painting them into the sky
i painted mercury, i created mars
ceres, pluto, and eris are nothing less
than the brilliant blues i smeared across the heavens
the ocean's windstorms were produced by myself as well
a watercolor gone wrong
the mess that i am
who knew disasters
were capable of shading the complexity in the sky
morning and night?
while you are sitting and watching the stars
i am up here
painting them into the sky
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC